Whatever Happened TO Saturday Nights
by Aeiu
Summary: Is McCormick indulging in some Midnight Madness?  Warnig:  Slightly risque material.  PLUS:  A special sneak preview of Season Four


After the story, scroll down for a sneak peek at the upcoming midseason premiere of Hardcastle and McCormick Season Four

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO SATURDAY NIGHTS

By Aeiu

The gun was the first thing that got his attention as he rummaged through the blue backpack. With a heavy heart, Milton C. Hardcastle, ex-judge and currently parole officer for Mark McCormick, pulled the gun from its hiding place. Possession of such a weapon was a law violation for which there was no excuse. Despite his personal feelings, he knew he couldn't ignore the evidence. He was obligated to report it to the police.

There had been something odd going on with McCormick for a while. It wasn't anything major, just odd and persistent. Every Sunday morning, for a little over two months, the young man had been exhausted. Their early morning basketball games were always fast and furious events where both played to win by any means necessary; except for these recent Sundays when McCormick barely put up a token defense and was not perturbed by his lopsided defeats. He was no better the rest of the day, too tired to pay attention to instructions or complete even the simplest chore up to standards. He would go to bed early Sunday night and be back to normal by Monday. When questioned, he would deny that anything was wrong or different before lumbering off like a sleep deprived zombie.

Thus Hardcastle had decided the situation called for a little one-man night-time surveillance. The first thing he discovered was McCormick was sneaking off the estate. This was unusual and unnecessary. McCormick had been working as Tonto for well over a year. While he was still on parole, he was hardly a prisoner. Once his work was done, he was free to do his own business as long as he reported where he was going and stayed on the right side of the law. McCormick knew this and had used the opportunity to take college classes; though his recent educational pursuits were partially an attempt to escape the questionable musical melodies of the Gull's Way Dixieland band.

It was during the surveillance, Hardcastle had first noticed the blue backpack. Every Saturday night at about eleven p.m., McCormick would sneak out of the gatehouse carrying the backpack then drive off into the night. It would be many hours before he returned. Most times, Hardcastle found himself dozing off into sleep before his return. The judge realized the only time he saw the backpack was when McCormick left on his late night excursions, thus leading to the need for a quick search of the gatehouse which led to the discovery of the gun.

"What are you into now, McCormick?" the judge muttered aloud as he pulled the weapon from the bag. He realized that it was too light to be a real weapon. In fact it was made of plastic.

_It's a water gun,_ Hardcastle thought. _A pretty dang good realistic water gun. What's he doing with this, _Hardcastle wondered as he placed it to the side. As he continued his search he pulled out various seemingly unrelated pieces of junk. His eyes widened in surprise when he got to the bottom of the pack and saw the fishnet stockings.

"What the…" he uttered as he held them up for inspection. The stockings were sitting atop a set of long lacy fingerless gloves and a black piece of lingerie. It resembled a one-piece bathing suit with attached garters. His late wife had called it a 'merry widow' on their honeymoon. Other than that he hadn't seen such an assortment of clothes outside a Marlene Dietrich movie. He carefully put the items back and returned to the main house to consider this new insight into the psyche of his resident Tonto.

Hardcastle knew McCormick was a young vibrant man who had needs and sometimes people had preferences to how they did things. So it wasn't unusual that McCormick would have an interest in such things but it was odd that he was carrying them around hidden in a backpack which he only took out on Saturday nights.

Hardcastle searched his memory but couldn't remember McCormick mentioning that he was seeing anyone. In fact, he'd complained that given his normal chores, case work, lack of funds, and new scholastic pursuits; he had little time to be seeing anyone. A situation like that could lead to frustrations which could send someone out to seek anonymous midnight rendezvouses.

Hardcastle knew he would have to talk with the ex-con. First off, what he was doing was illegal and second off, it was dangerous. Taking that red firecracker he called a car into those sections of town late at night was just asking for trouble. He could understand that McCormick might be reluctant to talk with him about such matters. But he would be shirking his responsibility as a parole officer and mentor if he failed to counsel him on this possibly destruction behavior. And Hardcastles were not shirkers. The only thing he knew for sure was if that's how he spent his money, McCormick didn't need a raise.

The next morning, McCormick heartily ate his breakfast oblivious of the turmoil that raged through Hardcastle's mind as he sought a way to begin their talk. He had always believed that the best attack is a prepared attack so he'd scoured his vast library to find information to explain McCormick's new activities. He'd found several books on dysfunctions and peculiarities but they all agreed that there was nothing wrong with the behavior as long as it wasn't obsessive. Hardcastle wondered if carrying the items around in a backpack could be considered obsessive.

"McCormick, we're both men, right?" Hardcastle said opening the conversation.

The spoon froze half-way in its journey to McCormick's mouth. He slowly brought it to his lips and sipped his cereal as he contemplated the judge's strange question. He lowered it to his bowl and turned his head to face Hardcastle. "Yes, we are."

"And we're friends," continued Hardcastle. "I don't mean best buddies, or donate your kidney friends. But we're friends."

"Yessss," agreed McCormick as he mentally plotted out his escape route.

"I would be able to talk with you about anything and I hope that you would feel free to talk to me about anything."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean, I've lived a long time and know a lot of stuff but I'd be the first to admit that I don't know everything. And I'm sure you know a lot of things but not everything. There are times that we could help each other by sharing our experiences and knowledge about things," said Hardcastle as he stressed the word things.

McCormick visibly winced and placed his hand to his mouth as his face began to redden. "Judge, does this have anything to do with those books you were reading yesterday?"

_Oh, great, _thought Hardcastle, _we haven't started and he's already embarrassed. _"I didn't know you had seen those but it does have to do with those books."

McCormick brought both of his hands up in a stopping motion. "Look, Judge. I really think you should talk to your doctor about this. I mean, I've heard guys talk about it but I don't know if I'd trust anything they'd say." McCormick leaned forward and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "Besides, at your age isn't it kind of natural to slow down."

"What?" asked the judge as he realized that he'd lost control of the conversation.

McCormick's eyes flickered downward as he continued, "Is it really that much of a problem for you?"

Hardcastle could feel the warm glow of the red begin in his toes and quickly spread to the rest of his body. He didn't know if it was from embarrassment or anger and he didn't care. "Get out!" he shouted.

"No!" McCormick said in an attempt to placate the judge's wrath. "I'm sure you get plenty of opportunities. I just didn't know about them."

"Get! Out!" Hardcastle roared. "And I don't want to see any sign of you until lunch!"

McCormick gratefully abandoned his half-eaten breakfast and fled from the kitchen leaving an irritated man in his wake.

_Well, the modern way didn't work, _fumed Hardcastle. _Time to use the old fashion way. _He remembered how his father had handled him when he became too interested in the opposite sex. You get rid of those urges with good old honest hard work. Make sure he's too tired to be thinking about it and too exhausted to do anything about it. Hardcastle began to prepare a list of tasks to be completed for the weekend.

"Hardcase, have you lost your mind?" McCormick shouted as he paged through the list of chores the judge had dropped in front of him during Saturday breakfast.

"I'm expecting some company tomorrow and I want the place looking nice," explained Hardcastle.

"Who? Is the Queen of England is coming to inspect the attic?"

"I understand that you might not get it all done today."

"Oh, you got that right."

"But I do expect you to do your best and get as many of them done as you can."

McCormick sighed and looked over to the judge. "I've already apologized for what I said yesterday. I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding on my part. There's no reason to try to work me to death."

Hardcastle stood and pointed his finger at McCormick's chest. "That conversation never happened and it has nothing to do with your chores. I know it's a long list so you'd better get cracking."

McCormick left mumbling under his breath about unreasonable dictatorial judges and unimpressed with Hardcastle's gracious offer to clean up the breakfast dishes. It was a long day for both men. The young parolee dutifully completed his tasks while the judge dutifully followed him around to make sure he completed the chores. The day ended at five o'clock when McCormick threw down his shovel and announced he was done. Hardcastle examined the panting, sweaty, and dirty man and agreed that he was done in. The ex-con stiffly walked to shower while Hardcastle happily prepared supper confident that McCormick had worked out any urges for another Saturday night on the town.

McCormick groaned as he sat at the table eyeing the judge's chili. "I hope you're happy. Even my aches have aches."

"Well, you did a good job," Hardcastle complimented. "The place is looking tip-top."

"I hope your guests appreciate it."

"Ah, about that," Hardcastle admitted sheepishly. "I meant to tell you that they canceled out."

The look that McCormick shot his way made him glad that there weren't any sharp items on the table. It was relatively quiet as they ate their meal, only McCormick's occasional inaudible mumbling breaking the silence as he glowered at the judge.

"I'll tell you what," Hardcastle said as he finished dinner. "I'll make the popcorn tonight."

"No thanks," said McCormick as he picked up their bowls. "I'm getting a heating pad, going to bed, and forgetting this day ever happened."

"If you're sure," said Hardcastle grinning to himself.

"I'm sure. All I want is a good night sleep."

_We'll see how sure you are,_ Hardcastle thought as he watched the young man walk to the gatehouse.

Hardcastle spent nearly an hour sitting by his window as he watched the cars parked in the driveway. He needed to be sure McCormick wasn't planning another adventure. At about ten thirty, he saw a dark figure covertly sneak through the night towards the Coyote. The mysterious backpack was thrown into the passenger seat and the vehicle was quietly driven away without the use of lights.

_Okay, no more Mister Nice Guy,_ the still dressed Hardcastle thought as he pulled on his baseball cap and stomped out to the waiting corvette. _I'm going to drag you back here and explain the fact of life._

Hardcastle realized the allegedly too tired man must be preoccupied as he didn't notice the familiar car on his tail. As they entered the city and approached McCormick's college campus, he lost sight of the red car. He drove around the neighborhood looking for a sign of the wayward parolee. He slowed the car down when he saw a figure, walking down a public street, in the familiar 'merry widow' and fishnet stockings. He brought his car to a screeching stop in the middle of the street when he noticed the mustache on the lithe figure wearing the outfit.

_Oh, my God, _thought Hardcastle as his mind violently rejected the picture forming in it. _It's worse than I thought. He's been at the peanuts, bought the farm, and become the peanut butter king. _

As he openly gaped at the pedestrian, he became aware that there were many other oddly dressed people milling in the street. Many wearing similar outfits, most carrying a bag of some sort and all converging on a small theatre at the end of the block. It was his only lead so he began looking for a place to park the car.

It took way too long to find a parking spot on the crowded campus. By the time he reached the theatre, the sidewalk was cleared of its strange denizens. There was just a young couple in front of him as he stood in the ticket line.

"I'm sorry," said the ticket seller. "All we have left is one seat."

The young lady punched her date in his right arm. "I told you we should've left earlier."

"We don't need a seat," the man argued. "We'll spend most of the time in the aisle, anyway."

"Fire code," responded the vendor as the disappointed couple walked away.

"I'll take it," said Hardcastle as he handed over his money.

"It's in the back row."

"Perfect."

The opening credits had just finished as Hardcastle took his seat. He had been vaguely sure he had seen a large set of ruby red lips on the screen as the crowd cheered the beginning of the movie. He was surprised to see it was a musical but slightly shocked at the lyrics of the first song. He knew times had changed but he never expected to hear that particular word in a chorus of a song.

With the high volume of business, he wondered why they couldn't have gotten a better quality of film. The soundtrack seemed to have an erratic spattering sound like something small hitting the floor. He figured it might be something falling from the ceiling of the older building as a few tiny hard objects showered over him. He examined one of the oblong pieces that landed in his lap. It reminded him of the rice he'd found in McCormick's back pack.

Things went from bad to odd as the young couple on screen started their honeymoon drive through a rainstorm. He was drenched as numerous people pulled out their toy pistols and shot water into the air. He would've been soaked to the bone but a sympathetic woman gave him some of the newspaper that she had been holding over her head. He considered calling the manager to report the gang of hooligans but decided he didn't want to call attention to himself in case McCormick was in the audience.

Things went from odd to bizarre as the screen couple entered the old mansion of Dr. Frank-N-Footer and were greeted by the most inexplicable cast of extras he had ever seen. During the musical number, the peculiar gyrations on screen were only matched by the movement of the audience members who had left their seats to dance in the aisles. And when Dr. Frank-N-Footer finally made his appearance in the same outfit that McCormick had brought with him, Hardcastle knew it was time to finish his surveillance outside of the theatre. He left and didn't look back.

He found a spot about half a block from building where he could easily watch both exits from the building. He shivered in the late night cold but anything was better than going back to the so-called movie. It took about another forty-five minutes before his patience was rewarded and the patrons started filing out of the theatre. It only took a few minutes to spot his curly headed assistant in the mob. _Thank God,_ thought Hardcastle as he stalked toward his prey, _he's wearing slacks and a jacket. And when did he start smoking a pipe?_

McCormick's eyes widened as he saw the angry man storming through the crowd. He completed a 180 degree pivot and attempted to merge back into the crowds when he heard a familiar harsh bellow.

"Hold it right there, hotshot!"

McCormick turned and flashed a smile. "Judge, I can honestly say that you're the last person I expected to meet here."

"Is that my jacket?"

"Yeah," admitted McCormick as he held up to rolls of toilet paper. "I'm Dr. Scott."

"You're Dr. Scott," Hardcastle mimicked. "What you are is one egg short of a dozen. What's going on here?"

"Didn't you see the movie?"

"No, I left."

McCormick breathed a sigh of relief. "It's the 'Rocky Horror Picture Show', Judge. A midnight movie. The thing to do on campus. A chance for a lowly yardman to rub shoulders with the hardworking and studious leaders of tomorrow and make new friends."

"A chance for a lot of weirdoes to act weirder, if you ask me. Why didn't you tell me this is what you were doing?

"I thought you would think it was stupid."

"Oh, you got that part right. I can't believe you've been going here for over two months. Aren't you too old for this?"

"Juuudge," went the delighted squeal behind him. "I didn't know you were a Rocky fan."

The eight-inch spiked heels wonderfully accented the long fishnet stocking clad legs as the lace-up merry widow struggled to hold in the well-proportioned figure of the platinum blonde who stood behind him with her long lacy gloved hands on her hips. Hardcastle had to admit that the outfit looked a lot better on Vonna Westerlake than on Dr. Frank-N-Footer.

"What can I say, Judge," McCormick answered as his eyes drunk in the sight. "I never get tired of this movie."

"Ahh, Miss Westerlake, we meet again," said Hardcastle as he remembered their last meeting when he had discovered her skinny dipping in his pool.

The vivacious young woman sidled up near McCormick and let her long nailed fingers walk up his chest. "Maaaark," she pouted, "Are you still going to be able to come to my place for a drink?"

"My dear," McCormick said with a wolfish grin, "wild donkeys couldn't keep me away." He threw the toilet paper over to the judge. "If I'm late, start the basketball game without me."

"Don't be late," shouted the judge at the retreating couple. "And we're going have a long talk about this tomorrow, McCormick."

With his arm around Westerlake's waist and her head on his shoulder, McCormick decided such unpleasant things could wait until the hard light of the morning. They slowly walked to his car, but paused when they saw the news van parked in the street. They peeked in and saw a TV screen that showed a local reporter in front of the movie house.

"We are here at the Roscoe Theatre," said a pretty young reporter, "where the 'Rocky Horror Picture Show' is enjoying its two-year anniversary. As you can see, it still attracts both young and old fans." The camera panned back to revel a large thong of fans including a white haired curmudgeon trying to work out of view of the camera.

"Hey, Janet," radioed the man inside truck to the reporter, "try to talk to that old guy with the toilet paper."

McCormick watched, mesmerized as the hunter became the hunted. Soon the screen was filled with an ugly scowling face and an angry voice that would need to be bleeped out before it had uttered its third word. McCormick gave his girl a quick hug, smiled down at her, and asked, "Honey, how about letting me move in for a couple weeks?"

THE END

FOR THOSE OF US WHO WENT FOR THE SHOW AND NOT THE MOVIE

And now a sneak peak from "Whose Life Is It Anyway" premiering at 8:00 p.m. Central Time on Feb 06, 2012, on Season Four at http..com.

As Hardcastle walked towards the den, he knew something was wrong. There was hesitancy in Frank's manner and he had not looked him in the eye since coming in the house.

Hardcastle clutched the desk as a wave of dizziness passed through his body. He knew what it was that Frank could not bring himself to say. They had been too late. McCormick's body had been found. Shot and left in a shallow grave. His best friend had died a lonely death at the hand of a madman seeking revenge.


End file.
